The Continent (The Continent #1)(28)

He yanks the blade from his neck, and a soft gurgling sound emerges from his throat. Half a second later there is a man beside him; tall, garbed from head to toe in black, his features cast in shadow by the dark hood about his face. The Topi outweighs him by at least forty pounds, but is far too slow to defend himself; the man in black slips easily behind him and in one movement, opens the Topi’s throat from left to right. The archer falls forward into the dirt, blood bubbling through his fingers as he clutches his ruined neck. There he lies, emitting horrific noises, his body twitching as the life drains out of him in a sickening black pool.

The hooded man does not linger. In a heartbeat, he moves to the sleeping Topi, hovers over him and plunges a knife into the man’s back. The movement is deft, quick, quiet. The sleeping warrior does not appear even to stir from his slumber.

Through all of this—which takes place in a matter of seconds—I stand as though rooted to the ground, watching the events unfold in a surreal state of paralyzed disbelief. Now, as the stranger completes his grisly business—he appears to be wiping clean his blade—reality clicks into place once again and I step backward, afraid for my own life.

He turns to approach, but stops to retrieve something from the dirt before the campfire. My necklace. The ruby glows in the light of the fire as he turns it in his palm, inspecting the stone. After a moment, he looks over at me, his head tilted slightly.

In the light of the dwindling flames, the features of his face emerge: high cheekbones, dark almond-shaped eyes that slope gently upward at the outer corners, full lips. His skin is smooth, his jawline angled and strong. He is younger than I surmised—not much older than I am—and he is most certainly Aven’ei.

He crosses the campsite and moves in my direction, sliding back the cowl to reveal a thin stripe of hair about three inches long that spikes upward along the center of his scalp. Again, I step away, the pain in my leg forgotten, not sure whether I ought to flee, doubtful that it would do me any good should this man want to kill me.

He extends his hand; the ruby pendant with its broken chain rests in his palm, but I do not dare to reach out and take it. He watches me, his dark eyes glinting in the light of the fire. After a minute or so, he retracts his hand and crouches down before me.

“The inscription on this stone reads insazi,” he says. “Insazi is a word of the Aven’ei, but you are not Aven’ei. Yet neither are you Topi.” He frowns. “So tell me, girl. Who are you?”





CHAPTER 10





I STARE AT HIM, MY MIND WHIRLING. AFTER three days spent in silence and grief, and these last terrible hours in the company of men whose words I could not understand, the sound of my own language is like a healing ointment upon my heart.

“Who are you?” he says again.

I shake my head as tears spill onto my cheeks. Relief, terror, grief, joy—I can no longer tell the difference. A week ago, I would have thought it shameful to weep like this in front of a stranger; I mightn’t even have cried in the presence of my own friends, save perhaps Evangeline. But now, I make no attempt to disguise my anguish. Salty tears mingle with mucous below my nose, and I wipe my face without care against the torn, filthy sleeve of my dress.

At length, the Aven’ei speaks again, his voice softer now. “Are you all right, girl?”

I nod and dab at my cheeks with dirty fingers. “I think so.”

“Are you injured?”

“He didn’t—I’m all right.”

The Aven’ei is silent for a moment. “Where is your home?”

“Far from here,” I say, shaking my head. “So far.”

“Where?”

“To the south. Another…another continent. I come from a place called the Spire.”

His mouth opens slightly and his dark brows rise up an inch or so. “You come from the Nations Beyond the Sea.” It is not so much a question as a realization.

“You know of my people?”

“I know this name, Spire.”

“We were on a tour, you see, and the heli-plane crashed, and I—”

“What is a heli-plane?”

“It’s…it’s an aircraft,” I say. “A machine that flies through the sky.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding slowly. “I have seen these since I was a child. We call them anzibatu—skyships.”

“That’s precisely what they are,” I say. “I was traveling with my family above the Continent when our heli-plane lost power. It crashed and…” I swallow. “And all were lost but me.”

“I am sorry to hear this,” he says, bowing his head. “It sounds as though you have had a great ordeal.”

These few kind words bring fresh tears to my eyes. “Thank you.”

A short silence passes between us, and the Aven’ei frowns. “A tour,” he says. “This is the reason for the…planes?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I hesitate, my face growing hot. “Your region is very interesting to us.”

“Interesting in what way?”

“The Continent is quite different from the Spire, in terms of geography and culture.”

“And so you come to watch us?”

“Yes.”

“Like animals in a menagerie?” he says.